


The Holiday for All upon Earth

by lurknomoar



Category: Mother - Maxim Gorky
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurknomoar/pseuds/lurknomoar
Summary: Pavel is ready to give his life to the cause. And yet, there are things he didn't expect the cause to take from him.
Relationships: Pavel Mikhailovich Vlasov/Andrey Onisimovich Nakhodka
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Holiday for All upon Earth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alley_Skywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/gifts).



> Thanks for the prompt! You asked for something with these two, around the theme of loyalty, and you said you were fine with angst. So here's a vignette about a mission and a brief, breathtaking moment of clarity.

The police catches up with them on the outskirts of Kaniv. At that point both Pavel and Andrey are half mindless with fatigue, having had little to no sleep for days. Worse, the slow work of exfiltration has taken a toll on their nerves, it always does, even on the strongest men, the most experienced revolutionaries. Pavel’s hand steals towards his jacket pocket, and he has to force himself to lower it, to lay it flat upon his knee. He must not draw attention to the sealed envelope tucked in there: that little treasure is dearer to the movement than either of their lives. It holds secrets that their comrades have bought, risking their lives and burning their honour as if it was mere kindling. But all that sacrifice will have been in vain if the envelope, and the intelligence within, does not find its way back to Moscow.

The four uniformed policemen haven’t made their move yet, they are just trailing them. Quiet, almost subtle. Pavel knows how these hunts work, the coppers don’t want to be the first to break into a run. They want to get close first, and thankfully, they don’t seem to have realized that their quarry has noticed their approach, that it might bolt. That means they still have a few minutes of freedom, and Pavel wastes a few moments foolishly looking around, trying to decide which way to turn, and realizing that he is lost. It is Andrey who grabs his arm and drags him down a side street, almost deserted in the thin midmorning sunlight, the workers of this industrial suburb having gone off to the factory for the day. Andrey knows where to go, he knows where’s safest: he grew up in this city after all, running around these same muddy streets, playing tag in these courtyards, begging and fighting for underpaid seasonal work in these squares. He knows how to blend in, and the shabby grey coats they’re both wearing do a lot to help. They walk at a brisk but steady pace, side by side: breaking into a run would make them far more noticeable. They twist and they turn and they double back, crossing over dingy, dilapidated back streets, until Pavel finally dares to glance behind him, only to see that the policemen are gone.

Andrey shoves him into a doorway, half-hiding the two of them from anyone who might walk down the little residential cul-de-sac.

‘We don’t have much time,’ he whispers. ‘I managed to lose them, but if they do a methodical sweep of the area, they should find us in five minutes flat.’

‘Do you have a contact hereabouts? Someone who could hide us?’ Pavel whispers back. He hates that he has to rely on Andrey for direction. Anywhere else, he’d be the lead, he’d call the shots no questions asked, but here, in this place where he’s never been, this place that Andrey knows like the back of his hand, he’s nothing but a liability.

‘Nobody I trust,’ Andrey answers, wistfully. ‘The people are not our friends in this town, not yet. My old comrade Lazarevitsch tried to organize the folks at the ironworks some five years back, and he was run out of town for his trouble. Lost a tooth, too. I’m telling you, we’re alone. Any ideas?’

‘Only one,’ Pavel says, his heart sinking. ‘I’ll distract them, you get out.’

Andrey gasps in shock, and Pavel does his best to ignore him. He had always known this day would come. He is standing half-pressed against his best friend, his closest comrade, huddled in a half-rotted doorframe in a city he doesn’t know, and he prepares himself to die.

‘Do you have to do this?’ Andrey asks, his eyes gleaming in the murk. He sounds distraught.

‘You know what we carry,’ Pavel chides. They both do. It’s a set of orders from the Okhrana headquarters, from the spider at the centre of the secret police’s web, sealed in an envelope, sent down to Kiev, stolen, and smuggled into the hands of the movement on a path both bold and circuitous. It will have information on the secret police’s strategies, what’s more, it might finally answer some pressing questions on whether there are informants and double-agents planted in, or near, the movement’s leadership. Pavel and Andrey cannot afford to fail.

‘No, I’m asking you, Pavel,’ Andrey continues, his whispering mouth bent to Pavel’s ear. ‘I’m asking if _you_ have to do it. I know I’m more expendable. You’re a leader, your speeches are printed in pamphlets and newssheets, you can rally half a factory with one good honest word, with the fire in your eyes and a wave of your hand, and I’m just… the jester who breaks up the meetings when they get boring.’

‘Andrey,’ Pavel interrupts. ‘None of that matters. All that matters is that we deliver this thing, and of the two of us, you stand a better chance of making it back. You know the city better, and your accent is inconspicuous. I’ll draw attention the moment I hesitate or ask for help, so it has to be you. Besides, you heard that plainclothesman talking, didn’t you, before we picked up our honour guard? He told his partner to follow the man with the red neckerchief. I’m the one he pointed out, so I’m the one they will follow first, I can lead them away.’

He doesn’t tell Andrey what he really wants to say – that Andrey is not expendable, that his jokes, his kind quiet jokes have kept more than one revolutionary group from breaking faith and falling apart, devolving into personal pettiness, acrimony, spite. That the soft murmur of Andrey’s bass voice, the warmth of Andrey’s arm on his shoulder, the spark of amusement in Andrey’s grey eyes have helped him rekindle hope on bleak and freezing days when he was sure it had once and for ever burnt out. Andrey had kept him alive through prison and exile and escape and the long trek home, Andrey had kept him smiling through this slinking, secret outlaw’s life, he was anything but expendable.

‘Pasha, I’ll…’ Andrey voice falters. He’s shaking his head, unable to continue.

‘Listen to me, comrade,’ Pavel says, laying a firm hand on Andrey’s shoulder. Andrey has to stay calm and committed to the plan, Andrey has to understand. ‘You know why I’m doing this. You know why I am happy to do this, you have said it yourself with words finer and more fitting. Because it’s worth it. Because it’s right. Because we have given everything for the cause even though we will never live to see its victory. Because I’ll never see it, but I still feel it when I hear you talk about it, about that faraway holiday for all upon the Earth, where all will share equally in truth and justice and joy. Come on, isn’t that worth any sacrifice?’

Andrey nods, scrubbing the tears away from his eyes, steeling his resolve.

‘May I bid you farewell?’ he asks, low and solemn.

‘Yes, of co-‘ and then Andrey is kissing him. It is just a dry close press of lips, and Pavel knows he should not allow himself even this much, that it is unconscionable weakness. But just this once, he closes his eyes and melts into the softness of Andrey’s mouth, the heat radiating of his body, the sheer comfort of his closeness, hoping that this moment, this warm bright secret moment might help him stay brave in a jail cell, and during interrogation, and on the scaffold.

He feels a sudden tug, then a shove, and he’s stumbling back into the doorway. Andrey is already backing away from him, with Pavel’s red neckerchief clutched in his right hand. He spares Pavel one last look, mouths ‘go,’ before turning around and breaking into a run. Pavel could shout after him, but the cry catches in his throat: if he makes a sound, both of them are caught. Pavel starts, too late, to hurry after him, but it is no use. Andrey has always been much faster, especially at a full sprint, his long loping strides carry him three houses away before Pavel even had time to blink, and then he’s got the neckerchief looped around his neck, and begins the work of a decoy for real. Nothing amateurish, nothing conspicuous, he just runs straight into a pile of garbage, broken furniture and empty crates and such, sends them clattering to the ground, yells out a swearword he would never say among comrades, turns a corner and takes off running, fast, still cursing, still attracting attention, in another direction.

The letter is still in Pavel’s pocket. He never got around to handing it to Andrey, and Andrey clearly never planned to take it. He had meant to die for Pavel, and for that holiday of the heart, glowing somewhere forever out of both their reach, innumerable years in the future.

Pavel knows he should wait a few minutes until the hunt dies down, and then make his way out of this warren of a district, walk to the riverside and set off North alongside the Dnieper river until the comrades sent down from Rechytsa pick him up. He should remain focused and alert and wait for the best moment to move, and never give any sign of the perilous message he carries. He knows this is what he should do.

Pavel stands leaning against the doorway, lays a hand over the letter in his pocket over his wildly hammering heart, thinks of the shining faith on Andrey’s face he walked away from him, and Pavel weeps.

Pavel knows he needs to do what is asked of him, that he cannot make mistakes, and must not delay. He knows he has no choice but to leave Andrey behind. He knows that he cannot try to free him, cannot even stay long enough to reconnoitre. He knows his mission. He knows his duty. He knows his cause. For the first time in years, Pavel looks at the movement that has become his family, at the idea that had become his lifeblood, and considers – something disloyal. Something unthinkable. Some allegiance to some higher heart.


End file.
